


Let it bleed

by gottemar



Series: Of Witchers and Music [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, inspired by songtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23822431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottemar/pseuds/gottemar
Summary: Jaskier is waiting for the return of the Witcher Geralt, who went into the woods to hunt monsters.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Of Witchers and Music [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737901
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story I came up with when I was listening to the Rolling Stones song "Let it bleed". I´m a huge fan of the Stones and I just had to think about a certain bard and his witcher. So title and songtext are taken from the Rolling Stones song.  
> This is the english translation of my fanfic "Jemanden zum Anlehnen" and there are probably tons of mistakes in it.  
> Still, I hope you like it.  
> Comments are welcome.

The sun slowly vanishes behind the line of trees and bathes the landscape in a strange red light. The chirping of the crickets in the undergrowth becomes louder and a little owl hesitantly starts calling.

Jaskier adjusts the lute that he cradles in his lap and lets himself sink against the rough board wall behind him. The old wooden bench beneath him cracks and groans uneasily. They stayed in this abandoned hut on the outskirts of the village, the Witcher Geralt and himself, because the inn in the village has no room available. The owner said that. Jaskier believes that the innkeeper just doesn't want to have a room available for Witchers. Geralt believed that too, Jakier saw it when they left the bar and the Witcher pressed his lips together. Neither of them said anything.

But old Stannis, who posted the notice on the bulletin board regarding the Neckers in the woods, offered the two of them to stay in the empty hut on the edge of the village. The tanner used to live here, but fell victim to a pack of wild dogs three years ago.

Jaskier pulls listlessly on the strings of the lute. The muse doesn't want to kiss him. He licks salty sweat from his upper lip and waves the mosquitoes away from his face with the music sheets. The air is still too warm, even though the sun has sunk now. Everything is calm, no leaflet moves.

The Witcher is gone, went to kill the beasts in the woods. Alone. "Not you, too dangerous!" he grumbled as the bard shouldered his lute to trot after him. "Stay with her," he said, referring to his mare. So the bard stayed with her, with Roach. Has the the saddle removed from the mare, rubbed her with dry straw, brought their bags inside. He looked around in the hut, the door tipped off its hinges when he tried to open it. He set up camp inside. Broken furniture and pots cleared out of the way. He even swept out the hut with a broom that was almost free of brushwood and plucked a bit of weed that came crawling out between the wooden floor.

Late in the afternoon, a few of the women living in the village come for a visit. They were barefoot, wearing no petticoats beneath their summer dresses, and the bodice of their dresses were wide open. With their big straw hats they fanned air to cool themselves down. The children, clinging to their skirts, were running around in their light shirts. They brought him strawberries, very ripe and soft, and sat down in the shade in front of the hut and asked for stories. And Jaskier told them stories. Stories about the adventures of the Witcher and his loyal bard. Then, in the twilight, they went back to their houses in the village and now he's alone again.

Nothing left to do but wait. So he waits. At some point he dozes off.

When he wakes up, it's dark. Two cats are fighting in the village, their shrieks and shouting echoes over and soft singing comes from the tavern. But away from the village, everything is quiet, even the crickets have stopped chirping. He can sense a change in the air. The sky briefly lights up further to the west above the tree tops. Weather lightning. Everything is still calm, but there will be a storm, he can feel it. A little cooling, hopefully and maybe rain. The grass under his bare feet is dry and still warm. There is no sign of his Witcher.

Jaskier gropes his way inside the hut and gets the flint from the pocket of his doublet, which he has thrown onto his bed, lights a few candles. The hut is still too hot for a fire in the fireplace. When he steps outside with the wax-dripping candle in his hand, the first gust of wind comes. Hair falls into his eyes. The candle flickers. The bard carefully places it on the bench next to him. He starts jingling a lullaby on the lute. He doesn't need light, he doesn't need to see the strings, his fingers remember the handles on the strings. The forest in front of the hut begins to rustle as the bard waits for his friend to return.

And suddenly, a soft splash! And another one! The first thick drops fall on dry grass. And then the rain starts. It drums heavily on the holey thatched roof of their hut. Jaskier laughs, puts the lute aside, holds out one hand and then his entire arm from under the canopy into the rain. He feels stupid when he dances barefoot in the rain, his hands raised to the sky. The drops splash coolly on overheated skin, washing off dust and sweat.

The air cools down within minutes. A flash of lightning illuminates the night. The wind drives the rain, now in thick, cold drops to the side of the hut. It thunders loudly. Roach, who grazed at the edge of the forest, neighs in alarm. Jaskier runs over to her, grabs her reins and pulls her to the hut while he talks to her soothingly. There is a crack and clutter in the forest behind them as the storm starts to break dry branches.

"Come, Roach, come with me. Let's go back to the hut! ”Another lightning flashes, the thunder follows immediately. Jaskier tries to lead the mare through the open entrance of the hut, but the animal resists.

"Don't queue up, girl," growls a voice behind Roach. Jaskier flinches, swears. Geralt is standing in the entrance of the hut, his broad outlines only vaguely visible in the dark.

"Geralt, damn it. Did you scare me! "

"Hmm."

"You are back!". An obvious finding. The bard is relieved, only relieved. Concern for the Witcher remains, even if he has returned from every monster hunt so far.

"So were you successful, are the Necker dead?"

"Hmm." The witch's white hair sticks to his forehead and hangs in his eyes like a curtain.

"Well, obviously they are, otherwise you wouldn't be here. You look like a wet dog, Geralt. ”The witcher shakes his dripping head like a dog and Jaskier laughs.

Together they persuade Roach to step into the hut, the bard pulls, Geralt lightly pushes against her broad buttocks.

"Made us comfortable. Do you like it? ”Jaskier points to the candles, the two rolled-out bed rolls and blankets on the floor.

"A dream." The Witcher is sarcastic again. He carefully pushes roaches aside when she hits him with her twitching tail and lets himself fall onto the bed. The bard hangs the horse blanket in front of the hut's entrance to keep the rain out. Wind whistles through all cracks, the roof leaks.

While Jaskier lights a fire in the fireplace and hopes that the storm won't bring the hut to collapse above them, the Witchers struggles to free himself from his armor. The leather swelled from the rain, buckles and strains are wet and slippery. Finally, the Witcher sits on his bed in his soaked shirt and trousers, the parts of his armor spread out next to him. He begins to rummage in his saddlebags.

Jaskier pokes in the fire. When he turns to the Witcher, he has untied his shirt and is trying laboriously to take a look at his shoulder. In the light of the fire, Jaskier recognizes dark spots on the shirt.

"Geralt, dear gods, you are hurt. You're bleeding! ”The Witcher just grunts. "So much blood, let me see." The Witcher gives him an exasperated look. "Will stop bleeding right away, took a potion."

"Should we clean the wound?"

"No."

"I can bandage that. You can't reach the spot on your back at all. "

"No."

"If you still have lines in your pocket, then I can .."

"Jeez, Jaskier."

"You are already dripping your blood everywhere."

"I said no!" That came out harder than the Witcher had intended. “It's just superficial scratches. I don't need a healer or a nanny. If I travel alone, I pour alcohol over it and wait until the bleeding stops. ”

Jaskier pouts. The storm rages outside. The Witcher continues his struggle to press a piece of linen onto the wound without moving too much.

Jaskier takes his lute and starts to play. First, he just plucks the strings, then he clears his throat and begins to sing:

"Well, we all need someone we can lean on, and if you want it, you can lean on me. Yeah, we all need someone we can bleed on. Yeah yeah and if you want it baby why don't ya bleed on me. You can bleed on me. All over, hoo ”

The Witcher looks up and slightly grimaces, but Jaskier can see from the small wrinkles around his eyes that he is surpassing a smile.

"Fine, here you have your will." Geralt holds out the bloody rag to the bard.

Jaskier takes a bottle of dwarf schnapps from his travel bag, takes a sip, then searches for a clean cloth. Then he takes a stand behind the Witcher. The cuts on his friend's back are deep, still bleeding, but they are not deep enough to be dangerous to a Witcher. It will heal. It will heal quickly.

With the alcohol, he wipes the edges of the wounds. He briefly thinks about sewing the wound, but the Witcher says that a pressure bandage would do the same. So he presses a little bit of fabric firmly into place. Then he takes a scarf out of his luggage, a very colorful one, and wraps it tightly and somewhat awkwardly around the Witcher's upper body. "I could have been a nurse," praises the bard himself. "Please don't," murmurs Geralt. "Oh look, my shirt sleeves! Now you've bled on my nice blue shirt! "

"All over you" sighs the Witcher but then smiles.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++  
Song and songtext + title belong to the Rolling Stones


	2. Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was bored today, so I started to draw this. Maybe some day I´ll add some color...


End file.
